


Delusions of Death

by ToreyTaylor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Death, Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, F/M, Gen, Graphic Description, Graphic Violence, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Murder, Other, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychosis, References to Child Abuse, References to Childhood Sexual Abuse, References to Suicide, Suicide, animal cruelty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToreyTaylor/pseuds/ToreyTaylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marissa has dark and twisted motives that no one could ever understand. Murder is her agenda and her mysterious and dangerously expressionless boyfriend helps her. Who is he? And will she be able to pull off the perfect murder and get away with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Letter of Reasons

_I am writing this letter to myself. It is for my eyes only. It is my proof that what I am doing is the right thing. As long as I know that it is all for a reason then I have the will to never be caught and to never class myself as a cold blooded murderer. I'm just doing what is right. It is for the best. I am not doing anything wrong and I have no reason to punish myself for what I am going to do. Below are my reasons for why Rose Morgan should die._

_Helen used to be my best friend. That was until Rose Morgan, the 'innocent' new girl arrived two months ago. Rose just came waltzing into the school with a smile on her face pretending to be all innocent. I saw through her straight away. Unfortunately, Helen did not. At first Helen was still my friend but Rose soon got her claws into my former best friend. A couple of days after Rose had arrived Helen started to act really weird around me and Rose was always by her side. Rose smiled at me but it was false. Anyone could have noticed. But not Helen. Because Rose is like that, you see. When she's got her claws in that's it. There's no way out. Not unless I kill her. Helen's blanking me now and it's all because of that girl, Rose._

_Rose Morgan bullies me. She comes up to me when she's not with Helen and sneers at me. Last week things got really heated between us when she called me a freak with no friends. She said that Helen had never liked me in the first place and that she was very willing to be friends with her rather than me. I walked away from her believing it to be the right thing, but now I know that it was not. I was being weak and Rose Morgan was winning the battle. It has been a month and a half since Rose took my best friend away from me and if I leave this any longer then I am better off dead myself for Rose will have gained complete control of my beloved best friend, Helen. And after she has done this she will come for me and punish me._

_How do I know this? Because HE said so. He told me everything I need to know. I thought I hated him at first and I did not trust him. I thought he was weird and I tried to steer clear of him. But I soon felt something for him. I think it was love. No, I'm sure it was love. His way of thinking, his way of doing things, everything about him was surreal and wonderful. In the end I was drawn to him and I began to love every moment with him. He would never ever lie to me and he told me that Rose Morgan was better off dead. He pulled me through my weakened state of mind and told me that I was letting her win. I couldn't let her win. I have to make her pay for what she did. And that's exactly what I'm going to do._


	2. Memories of a Kill

Marissa smiled as she re-read the letter she had just written. She plonked the pen down onto the vanity table and folded the letter in half, making sure that the edges were perfectly aligned to each other. She gazed at herself in the mirror, her face beaming with pride and satisfaction as if she had just completed a piece of brain-numbingly hard homework, not a letter explaining her own warped motives of the murder of another school girl.

She liked the look of herself and was always gazing at herself in the oval shaped mirror set into the vertical piece of polished wood on her vanity table. She didn't think she looked pretty, sexy or attractive, none of those. Her appearance had a better quality and the way she looked just might let her get away with murder. You see, Marissa looked innocent.

She had large milky brown eyes, appealing to anyone who gazed into them and especially to him, and they glistened gently when the sunlight hit them. Her hair was light and elegant, a sweet light brown in colour, and she wore it loose. She wasn't very tall – only five foot – and she talked quietly as if she was very shy. However, her act was just a front, a cover-up from the real her. On the outside she may have looked like an innocent fifteen-year-old girl with a warm smile, friendly eyes and a cute personality, but on the inside she was a danger to everyone, with dark ideas and with an intense joy to inflict pain, hurt and death upon others. And that was the way she liked it. She did not feel ashamed by what she had become, instead she felt proud and just thinking about the things she had done made her feel like an all powerful being. Truth was, she wanted the whole world to feel how powerful she was; and she wanted the world to cower with fright in her presence.

She hadn't killed a human before but knew that it was time to. She liked to think that she came to the decision to kill by herself, but it wasn't the case. He was with her when she had killed before; he was the one that encouraged her to do it. He told her everything. That was why she was scared of him at first. She felt that she was being drawn into his world and she didn't like it. But, after a while, things began to change. Marissa started to enjoy his orders and when she killed again and again and again, she began to get more of a thrill out of doing it. She had only killed animals but she liked the thrill of doing it.

They would meet up together, in the forest, she and him. He would be dressed in black, always in black, and with a face that was expressionless. She loved his face and would often just stare at it for minutes at a time. He didn't seem to mind. He didn't seem to mind anything. He was always so calm, even when he helped her to kill. He didn't care about anything but her and her feelings. He didn't show it but she knew. He would always be there for her, protecting her. He was her saviour.

On a cool late October evening last year, the two of them met at the forest. It was dusk and the birds had all stopped singing. Marissa could hear nothing but the howling wind whistling through the near-bear branches of the trees and the sounds of them creaking and the few leaves rustling together. He had called her, telling her that he wanted to see her kill an animal with her bare hands and that he'd meet her at the forest. She complied with his orders and climbed out of her bedroom window quickly and quietly, clambered down the drain pipe, ran through the front lawn and down the lane to the forest a few miles out of town.

She was wearing black too; a pair of black jeans, black high-heeled boots and a black polo neck jumper. Once again, she wore her hair loose and the wind was blowing it in all directions. She reached the forest a short time later and smiled when she saw him waiting for her in their special meeting place. They had designated it as their place because of all the animals that liked to shelter here for the night. It was a part of the forest where there were no man-made paths, only dense undergrowth and looming trees. She very often scratched herself on the twigs and branches jutting out but did not feel the pain; a person such as herself couldn't feel pain. She was an all-powerful being, she was one with him and he was one with her. Together the two of them were unstoppable.

"Hi Marissa," he said. "I knew you'd come."

"I'll always do what you say, you know that."

"I love you, Marissa."

"I love you too."

"Show me your hands."

Marissa stepped closer to him, smiled, and out-stretched her palms in front of him. He looked down at them, appearing to examine them and after a few seconds of examination, he looked up and smiled at her.

"You have good hands. They're nimble but strong. You could kill an animal easily with them."

"Thank you so much! You don't know what it's like to hear someone say that about me!"

He ignored her joyful reply and instead just glanced at her eyes. Their eyes locked on to each other's but whilst Marissa's were happy and full of emotion, his eyes were dark, empty and free of life. But she loved them like that. Those eyes made her do things; his voice made her do things; he made her do things she couldn't do without his presence. He made her a stronger person and she realised that she could not live without him.

"So, are you ready?"

"Yes. I'm ready."

"You just wait now. Be silent and still and the animal will come to you."

She stood very still, almost statue-like, her sleeves rolled up to just below her elbows. She had tucked her hair behind her ears so that her hair didn't obscure her vision when the animal came into view. As the darkness grew more intense, so did her feelings, her emotions. She had never felt such an overwhelming sense of power and pride. She could destroy the world if she really wanted to. She could do it. Perhaps even without him.

He had gone now, had left her to her own devices. Perhaps it was his way of toughening her up; leaving her all alone in the heat of the moment, when things were getting serious. He only wanted the best for her, you see. He loved her and that was his way of giving it to her.

She could hear a noise. The rustling of undergrowth. The wind couldn't have produced such a noise; no, something large moving through the brush created the noise. She could hear its feet gently patting the floor and she remained still, a sickening smile appearing on her face, her heart beating with excitement. Whatever animal it was had stepped right towards its grisly fate.

She could see movement now, a faint outline of a shadow. It was moving ever closer towards her, and she held her hands out, cupped them, ready to place round the neck of whatever animal it was and then to squeeze tighter and tighter and tighter until her head was brimming with exhilaration.

The little glimmer of moonlight shone down onto the female deer that had wandered into her final resting place. She was snuffling the ground with her nose, looking for food and probably picking up scents of other animals and deer. She hadn't noticed Marissa yet and perhaps wouldn't, not unless she caught the scent of her. Marissa realised that this animal could quite easily pick up her scent, and at any time, so she would have to act now or fear letting the deer escape.

Heart pounding, adrenalin pumping through her veins and releasing its bitter taste into her mouth, Marissa inched forwards, her breath getting shorter and quicker with every second. The intense thrill of it all could determine the outcome of this encounter; the excitement could cloud her judgement and the deer could scarper. Or she could control herself, injure the deer with her bare hands so that she could not escape or fight back and then torture her. Yes. That would be perfect. If she could just get it right…

The deer looked up; her eyes widened. She turned her head to survey her surroundings, perhaps to make a quick exit, but it was too late. Marissa's hands were already speeding towards the deer's neck, and in one swift movement, the girl was tightening them, squeezing them. The deer started to gurgle and squeal and Marissa showed no mercy towards the deer's cries and instead squeezed harder and harder until eventually the deer's neck snapped. The sound was pleasant to Marissa's ears. It sounded to her like a job well done and she sighed, slowly releasing air from her lungs.

She removed her hands from her neck and watched as the deer fell to the floor with a thud. She was still alive, just like Marissa had hoped for. Her body was convulsing and her legs were twitching. Her eyes were wide open, looking up into the trees above. She looked terrified and in pain. Marissa was gasping to get her breath back after the strenuous effort, but she was smiling at her victory, even more so when she saw the terror in the female deer's eyes. Her neck was stuck at a weird angle and there was a bulge near the base of it. Upon closer inspection, Marissa could see broken skin and blood. Digging around, she could feel the cause of the bulge; a neck bone was protruding outwards, but had not quite protruded far enough. Looking into the deer's eyes, Marissa said "Let's get this bone out for you, shall we?"

Digging her hand right into her neck and managing to clasp her hand around the bone, she pulled it out forcibly; it made a squelching sound as it was being pulled out and then a meaty pop as it came all the way out. The deer had lost the use of her vocal chords and could do nothing to show her pain except for the terror in her eyes, which were still wide open. Her body was still convulsing.

Marissa held the bone in her hand, twisting it round slowly between her fingers, contemplating what to do with it, as the deer writhed in pain before her. She could keep it as a trophy in her room. That was one suggestion her mind threw at her. She could discard it or…and her heart gave a sudden jolt at this thought…she could torture the deer with its own bone. Yes.

The bone in her hand wasn't complete. It had been snapped off a larger bone and had splintered. Marissa was unaware that she had splintered her own hand with it and made it bleed. The only thought that had crossed her mind was the fact that this bone was sharp and therefore would make for a perfect torture device on the fallen deer.

Where to start…where to start? There were many places to begin a long and cruel torture and she was having a tough time trying to decide. The deer's breathing was beginning to labour and experience with other killings meant only one thing: this deer would die soon. She had not experienced enough pain yet; Marissa had to make her suffer a bit more before she snuffed it.

She started with those eyes; those large frightened eyes. What could the deer possibly look like with bloody huge holes in her head? To Marissa she would look like a work of art. A work of art that she herself had created.

With the bone, Marissa gouged it into the deer's right eye. The surface of it split open, revealing a mass of gooey clear liquid. Digging deeper, she had penetrated the flesh deep inside and a river of blood oozed out and trickled down the deer's face. The deer started to convulse and twitch even more rapidly than before and the sight excited Marissa. She dropped the bone onto the floor and scraped the eyeball out of its socket with her fingers. She could see the bloodied iris staring back at her for a few moments until she squashed it with her fingers. To her surprise, the eyeball wasn't easy to squash. She expected it to be soft, but instead it felt grisly. She did the same to the other eye until her artwork on the face was complete. She looked at her face and beamed with satisfaction. She was surely in pain by now. A massive hole in her neck, two bloody holes in her forehead where her eyes should have been.

"You really shouldn't have come here, you filthy animal," she laughed. "But I guess you're a masochist or something, right? Otherwise you really wouldn't have allowed this. Or maybe you couldn't. Maybe I was just too powerful for you. Yes, I think I was. You underestimated me, you rotten piece of shit. You underestimated the both of us! Come and look what I did."

There was no answer.

"What's going on?" she asked, puzzled. "Why aren't you here? Don't you love me anymore?"

Infuriated, Marissa kicked the deer in the chest, prompting a quick death.

"Shit! Now look what you made me do!"

"Marissa, I'm right here. Don't be angry."

She turned around quickly, shocked to hear her boyfriend's voice.

"Were you always here?"

"I was here with you, yes. You should know that by now. I will never leave you."

"Thank you. I do love you, you know. I really do. I did what you asked of me. I killed an animal. A deer. And I tortured it too. Come and look what I did."

She held her hand out for him to take it and led him to the deer's lifeless body. Her face was a bloodied mess, with holes as eyes and her neck was bent in an awkward position. A ragged chunk of flesh had been ripped out of her neck and on the floor next to it lay the bloody bone, the sharp end of it smeared with goo and blood from the deer's eye.

Marissa's boyfriend looked down at the deer, her piece of artwork, and as she looked into those blank eyes, she smiled. She could see through his face, void of expression, and into his real feelings deep inside. He was very proud of her.

"You're proud of me, aren't you?" she asked for clarification.

"Yes. You know that. Your artwork is fantastic and you are of better quality than anybody here on this planet. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do. I'm destined for higher things. I don't think I'm of this world. I'm from a superior race from a far galaxy. You told me this, I can remember. Were you telling the truth?"

"You're doubting me. Don't do that. We've been together for a very long time and whatever I tell you is the truth. You have to believe in me. We are together, you and I, and you have to believe everything I tell you. I can remember when you used to be afraid of me. Why were you afraid?"

Marissa didn't answer. In truth, she was scared. He was acting strangely. They were supposed to be in love but he was controlling her. That was what it felt like to her, anyway. Why was he being like this? She suddenly found herself not wanting to be near him anymore and asked him to leave her alone for a little while. If he respected her wishes, he would do just that.

"Very well," he told her. "If that is the way you want it then yes, I'll leave you alone. But not for long. You won't be able to cope without me. I'm not doing this because you asked for it.

"Why are you doing it then?"

"I'm doing it so that you can feel what it's like without my presence. I know that you will hate it. I know that you will buckle under the strain of life. I know that you will never be able to cope without me. You will welcome me with open arms when you choose to. I know that you will do it soon. Goodbye for now, Marissa."

He left her then, as promised. She hadn't seen or heard from him until a little over a month ago, when he informed her of the future actions of that new schoolgirl, Rose Morgan. That was in early February; it was now March. She had coped without him but she missed him terribly. She was glad he was back with her and this time she would never doubt anything he told her again.

She stuffed the letter to herself into her drawing book and then stuffed the book into a little inside pocket in her school bag. In her drawing book were many pictures. She had drawn a picture of her boyfriend on the first page, dressed in black, his face expressionless, just the way she liked it. The next six pages consisted of drawings of dead animals, including the innocent female deer with a mangled neck and holes for eyes. She had to make sure to reserve a space for Rose Morgan in that special drawing book of hers and she also promised to make her look good. She wanted to make Rose Morgan look _real_ good. Just like a work of art should be.


	3. Distorted Photo

Marissa had awoken early on the morning of March 12th 2007, after having dreamed of death and blood and rotting animals buried in the forest where she did a lot of her killings. Her last dream was of Rose Morgan though, with her long hair glistening with blood and her body as naked as the day she was born, but not beautiful anymore. Her body bore the pattern of many stab wounds, some deep and others merely penetrating her pale flawless skin. Blood oozed from her wounds like jam oozes out of a freshly baked doughnut when you sink your teeth into it. In her dream, Marissa ran her fingers over her victim's skin, through her blood. Her hands were slick with her blood and she licked her fingers clean. It didn't seem to have a taste, which disappointed Marissa as her dreams were usually vivid in sight, sound and taste.

This disappointment stayed with her as she woke and immediately she wanted to get her small hands round the neck of whatever living thing she came to. She had no pets; if she did she could easily take her fury out on those. She only had a mother, no siblings and no father. The man unfortunately known as her biological father had left when Marissa was just a month old. She had no memories of him and she was glad. She didn't want to know a worthless man such as him.

Her mother was pretty useless too. She was blonde, thin and in her thirties and she was the sort of woman that Marissa hated. Her own mother was a pathetic weakling and she despised her. Her mother had been trodden on all through her life, simply because she was too stupid and weak to actually stick up for herself. On a countless number of occasions she was used and abused by her own daughter, like the time when Marissa managed to coax £100 out of her to buy herself a professional carving knife. Marissa innocently told her that she wanted it to buy Helen something special for her birthday. And she believed it, even though it wasn't even Helen's birthday. She was stupid like that, and gormless.

She still had that carving knife. Hidden away in her bottom drawer, along with all of her other special things, amidst love letters from her boyfriend, her used up drawing pad, a small box of sewing needles, a bloodied screwdriver, bits of rope and string, a Polaroid camera and photos of Rose Morgan. She picked up the photo on the top of the pile and smiled at it. She didn't look very pretty in this one. Marissa had taken it last week as Rose was walking home from school. Her hair had been pulled into a high pony tail and she was smiling dreamily to herself and Marissa knew why alright. She was happy because she had finally separated a decent friendship. Marissa had hidden behind the old Oak tree on Bay Street, snapped a picture of her victim and had taken it home to apply her artwork to it.

There wasn't one much could do with a photograph, but it allowed for Marissa to at least get some of her pent up aggression out of her system. To commit an emotionally satisfying murder, you had to bide your time, wait for the right moment, allow for your emotions to reach breaking point and then you would be able to feel the ripe energy of the act hit you. It was very pleasant, especially with the animals. Especially that deer. Oh God, yes. It was a magnificent feeling. Rose Morgan's life was ticking nearer to its end, but Marissa's feelings and emotions had not fully developed yet.

The perfect Rose on the photo was not perfect for she had pin holes in her eyes. Where her perfectly formed breasts once were, two large holes took their places and her hair was not golden blonde anymore but tinged with red pen that had been forcefully applied over and over again to make the colour more prominent and blood-like. The red pen lines streamed from a distorted nose and the pen had been sketched across her forehead and then smeared when the ink was still wet. A cartoon bubble had been drawn next to her distorted face and scrawled in the same red pen were the words "I am a piece of meat and nothing more. Do with me what you will, Marissa." And Marissa would do that, soon enough.

She smiled at the photographed and mutilated Rose and laughed before placing the picture back into the drawer. She closed it softly as the photo unleashed pleasing emotions throughout her body. That's exactly what it was there for and was the drug she used to contain herself, to make herself wait for what was to soon come. She looked at her clock and it was ticking. Ticking the time away. Her heart fluttered.


	4. By the Lakeside

It was a school day; Alex said he'd be meeting her so that they could walk to school together. Marissa was very much her own person and didn't need people to depend on that much, not since her real boyfriend showed up on the scene, at least. When he said he was going away, it made her feel a depression so strong that she felt she could not lift her head off her pillow of a morning. She didn't feel solace in killing, so did not. She felt her artwork was rubbish and didn't feel any motivation in picking up a photo and mutilating it. She and Alex had met three months ago, at a Christmas party held at the school. Marissa, not wanting to mingle with anyone, was stood at the back drinking something strawberry flavoured. It wasn't very nice, but she had only chosen it because of the colour. Blood red. It made her feel a little happier, a little more in control. A tall, thin boy with mousy brown hair came striding towards her asking to know why such a pretty girl was standing up here all on her own. That was Alex and to Marissa, he had absolutely no business talking to her like she was a slut. It was degrading and humiliating and made her feel like she was a lesser person. That she was not.

Now, somehow, they were together. He was in the West wing of the year and she was in the East, so neither of them had crossed paths before, until now. Marissa was weak back then and she knew why. It was her secret though, that no one could ever know. He, her real boyfriend, was her secret love. When Alex had asked her out, she jumped at the chance. Her real boyfriend had abandoned her, had said it was for the best, but that he would come back. Now, he hadreturned and Alex was no longer of any use to her.

Her boyfriend had not told her to kill Alex this time. Now, she was being the stronger person in the relationship by standing on her own two feet, by acting by herself rather than like a puppet. She loved him dearly and there would be no love lost by doing this because they had a special bond that could not be broken by anything at all. He would be happy and she knew it, even if his face bore no expression of glee, of pride, or of joy.

This murder was not one of her life's ambitions and it would not be satisfying to her, emotionally. Alex would not be tortured before his death and Marissa would waste no time in disposing his body in the lake on the edge of town and would quickly wash her hands of the wretched piece of filth that was Alex. It needed to be done. It was a chore, like the ironing or the washing up that the bitch did every day; her stupid whore of a mother.

There was nothing wrong with killing another person if they were in the way, or were of no use. The police wouldn't see it like that though, would they? Of course not. People were allowed to kill animals, so why not humans too? Marissa loved to kill animals, and she was free to do so, too. But a human? Oh no. Humans were important, of course. To Marissa, the only two most important people were she and her real boyfriend. Not even Helen mattered anymore. Her murderous revenge had been detached from its reasoning, and perhaps had not even been about revenge at all, but a need to fulfil her desires of snuffing out lives like the flame of a candle. Yes, that was what it was all about. Marissa had come to the conclusion that she was a born killer and she relished in the fact; felt no remorse, no sadness. She only felt a power so strong that it coursed through her body like a fierce bolt of electricity. She felt on fire, and that she was invincible from anybody and everybody. No one would be able to touch her and no one would be able to touch him, either. Together, they were as one.

Her mother was working a lot of hours in her job, which meant that Marissa was very often left to her own devices. Of course, she didn't mind at all because she had him and he had her. Besides, her mother would only be a hindrance to her plans and she was a lesser person, too, a person with futile morals and beliefs, views of right and wrong; all the decent things, supposedly. Forget decent. Whatever happened doing the things you felt were right in your heart and mind? The things that _really_ mattered? No one would ever understand. Everyone else was weak and no one realised the importance of young Marissa's power.

There was a knock at the door and she ran down to answer it.

"Hi!" she pleasantly greeted the tall young man at the step of her front door. "Do you want to come in for a bite to eat before we go to school?"

Alex smiled, hungrily, a cheeky glint in his slate grey eyes, before moving towards Marissa.

"How about a kiss instead, Rissi? Besides, I just _had_ breakfast. I'm after seconds now." He winked at her.

Marissa stepped backwards, humiliated. He had called her Rissi. Rissi! She was Marissa Kincaid, an all powerful being. She was not a pet, a thing to be stroked and tugged at and tail pulled and kissed with big soppy pouty lips. Is that what she was to him? A pet to play with? A mere animal? She suddenly felt very threatened and insecure. Tears had started to form in her eyes but she wiped them away with a quick hand, sniffed once and shook the hair from her face.

"Babe, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Did I push you a bit too far?"

"You didn't push me, Alex. You couldn't. Not even if you tried. I'm… just going through a bit of a tough time at the moment, that's all. There's a lake by the town. You know about it, don't you?"

"The lake? Yes. Yes, I know it. Why?"

"Because there's something I need to do down there, something that will make everything right. Will you come with me, Alex?"

Alex's face turned into a puzzled frown and he glanced into Marissa's eyes, as if doing so would be able to give him answers to his girlfriend's somewhat cryptic words.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Alex? Can you see what I'm thinking?" Her voice started to shake and she mentally scolded herself for being so careless. Of course he wasn't. How could he? He wasn't psychic or a mind-reader. He was a lesser person. His feeble human brain could not comprehend such inhuman and godly abilities.

"Marissa, I don't know what has gotten in to you, but if going to the lake is going to sort out whatever problems you have then I'm all for it. I hate seeing you like this. You're my girlfriend and I love you. I don't want to see you get hurt. And yes, I'll come with you. And I'm sorry if I came on a little strongly back then. You know I love you for you and not just for sex, right?"

His voice was full of concern and to most girls their hearts would melt with his words. But not Marissa. Her moments of insecurity and paranoia were getting more frequent it seemed and she didn't know why. Killing Alex would make her feel a little more powerful and just that little bit more in control. She had to be strong for the torture and murder of Rose Morgan and couldn't let her weakened emotions surface during that special moment.

"Shall we go?" she asked. "We should be in time for school if we go now. It won't take long, I promise."

"Marissa, you didn't answer my question," he said. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"Of course," she replied, her voice still and monotone.

"Cheer up, yeah?" he requested.

"Alright then, Alex!" she replied, her voice eerily shifting to a tone of happiness and buoyancy. Her boyfriend did not notice and instead was only happy that she had seemed to perk up a lot. "Let's go then!"

The walk wasn't long and Marissa had strolled this route many times before, often at night, to carry out some of her minor killings on small animals. Usually filthy rats or fish that stupidly jumped out of the water, hungry for their own deaths. The lake itself was situated in a small valley to the north of the town, which required a small but tiring slope to the top of a hill before making the descent into the valley the other side. Marissa marched upwards, eager to arrive, but as she turned around, she saw that Alex had stopped to drink a bottle of lemonade.

"What are you doing?" she shouted from afar. "We don't have time for that."

"Sorry sweetheart!" he called back. "I'm coming now."

She knew she should not feel anything for the murder she was about to commit, but watching and listening to her victim, blissfully unaware that the trek up the slope would be his last breaths of air, would be his last walk, his last everything was mildly pleasing to her. He did not know; would not know until the very last second. And by then it would be too late. She would have the power over him, as she knew she would. It was a magnificent feeling. However, she had to remain focused and not pour all of her energy into this. She was saving that for the murder of that bitch, Rose Morgan, the girl who truly deserved to die. This death would be a quick one, but a painful one never the less.

The view from the top of the hill was magnificent. The grassy hills seemed to shiver in the cool wind and the lake rippled in the sunlight, its dazzling silvery hue brightening the deep valley. Almost bare trees dotted the area, their small buds signifying that a new spring was arriving. One that Alex would never be able to see. She smiled and her heart jumped a little. No. She couldn't let it affect her like this. This death was unimportant to her. It was just a chore that was all. A chore that needed to be done.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, putting an arm around her.

"I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"About nothing in particular. Let's go down."

They reached the lakeside and watched silvery sunlit fish jump out of the water and back into its murky depths with a quick flick of a tail. Alex seemed mesmerised by nature and always had done, even since Marissa met him. Standing here in the serenity of this magnificent place seemed to heighten her emotions and she tried to ward them off but found that she could not. He was begging for this, without even fully realising it. He was the weak one and she, once again, had power over another human being. She had to act quickly and make sure that his death didn't overwhelm her senses.

Placing his arm around her again, he turned towards her and smiled. She smiled back, her mouth fully upturned and seeming to capture the true essence of beauty; her eyes bore the opposite and remained dead and emotionless. Her mouth dropped its smile so suddenly that Alex withdrew his arm from her shoulders and backed away. Now, he could see the evil in her eyes.

Plucking a small penknife from her left pocket discreetly, she crept closer and closer to him, her hand firmly sealing the weapon, her nails digging into her palm to secure it.

"Y-you're scaring me!" he yelled. "Get the hell away from me!"

"No," she replied.

He turned around and started to run but it didn't matter how fast he ran; Marissa was there, behind him, edging closer and closer until she brought her arm backwards, readying herself for the attack, and then bringing it forwards with a strength no girl should ever have been able to obtain, and plunging the knife into the boys neck. He let out a blood-curdling scream as she let out a joyous gasp, and he fell to the floor, clutching his neck and writhing in pain. Marissa knelt down beside him, letting the knife fall to the floor, and clutched his face in her hands.

"M-Marissa." he gasped. "Why? I d-didn't…ask for…th-this."

"I know you didn't," she replied coldly. "But you got it anyway. Such is life! Goodbye, you worthless piece of shit."

Scooping the bloodied knife off the ground, she plunged it deep into his neck again, severing his carotid artery. Blood spurted from the wound like a twisted fountain from a macabre horror story would spout blood-red water, but then ceased as Alex's heart stopped beating. Now, the blood oozed out, thick and clotted, coating the grass and filling Marissa's nostrils with a pungent odour of iron.

His eyes were wide open, fright captured in his last stare. The bright day that lay ahead lit his eyes and they glistened, but Marissa was not interested in that. Checking herself for spatters of blood, she found none and tossed the penknife into the water, as far as she could. Dragging the body down to the water's edge was tougher than it looked. For a thin boy, Alex was heavy. His head lolled left and right, his eyes still wide, as if blindly surveying the beauty of the lake. He was already beginning to stiffen up as Marissa grabbed onto his hand for one last tug to pull him to the water. His fingers barely moved and had become cool.

She began scooping up stones from the edge of the lake and quickly took them to the body before stuffing his bag with them. She had to make sure that his body sank to the bottom of the lake, so that he could rot down there in the depths. Almost satisfied, she suddenly realised that maybe the weighted bag would not be enough, so she filled every pocket of his uniform with stones too, and also filled his sweater with them. Now completely satisfied, she pushed the body into the water, letting the currents take him further out. Within seconds, the body began to sink until only bubbles could be seen on the surface. When those, too, had diminished, she washed her hands in the lake, smiled, and praised herself for a job well done.

She felt nothing for this murder, and that's the way she wanted it. Now that he was out of the way, she and her real boyfriend could concentrate on the girl that had been in their dreams for endless nights. Rose Morgan's life was to become a living nightmare.

"Are you here?" she called.

"I'm here," replied her boyfriend. "And I always will be, my love. Right here by your side. Forever."


	5. Knowing Her

She looked at her watch and smiled to herself, not because she was happy but because now that Alex had gone, no one could interfere anymore. He was there too; her real boyfriend. He had always made her happy and she could not live without him, she knew that. She had been strong when he wasn't with her in person but she knew why. Her spirits remained high because he _was_ there, waiting. He was just waiting, silently. She knew he would always come back. And now they were going to commit the perfect murder together. Just the two of them.

"Will you walk me to school?" she asked casually. "I'm lonely. Could do with the company."

"Of course, Marissa. Of course. I will always be here, even when you cannot see or hear me."

Reaching the throng of teenagers and hearing their screechy yells and seeing their pathetic gormless expressions as they gossiped about no one important instilled a sense of pride into Marissa. Rather inappropriately, for she was in no personal company now, she laughed hard, eyeing up the rough looking lads and the make-up clad whores who were trying to be sexy and failing miserably, for they were lesser people. She hated the lesser people with a passion and she knew she was destined for higher things. She was oddly happy for she was above them all and would never sink as low as any of them. She felt so proud to be who she was and did not stir or blink or look down at her feet in embarrassment when their eyes looked towards her. There was just one thing in her mind right now. Where was Rose Morgan?

She scanned past the face of a sneering tart of a girl, a stupid looking boy of about thirteen who had bulgy eyes and a runny nose and a plethora of other teens and pre-teens, searching for one person only. She found her sitting on the wall at the far end of the school yard and fascinatingly, she was on her own. Was it fate perhaps? Was it really supposed to be this easy? She wondered where her former friend Helen was and realised she didn't actually care anymore. If it made things easier then perhaps it would have been better if she had dropped off the face of the planet, never to be seen again. She wasn't important anymore, you see. The death of Rose was the only important thing to Marissa now; that, and torture and the thrill of never being caught. She had been blessed with these godly powers, and she had been blessed with her boyfriend, too.

"Hi, Rose," Marissa said, smiling. "Look. Um…can we talk?"

"Why should I talk to you?" she spat back. "I thought you hated me for apparently taking Helen off you. Now you wanna be friends?" She eyed Marissa as if trying to find an expression that would confirm her suspicions that the strange girl was only pretending to be nice. She found nothing but a warm smile and large eyes that seemed hopeful and almost timid.

"I'm sorry for what I've put you through, Rose," she said, pretending to squeeze her hands together nervously. To further her falsity she eyed the ground as if she was shy. "Truth is, I've been feeling really bad about it and I want to put things right. Will you be my friend?"

"I guess I'll give you a chance," she replied, an easy target for Marissa's evil deception. "I could do with some more friends, anyway. Besides, you look genuine enough to me."

"I'll never let you down," lied Marissa. "I promise! So, where's Helen?"

She hoped that her former friend had gone on holiday or was seriously ill. Personally, Marissa found the latter to be far more exciting and she felt no wave of remorse for thinking that. It was then that the bitch announced that Helen had had to take time off school for reasons that she couldn't disclose to anyone, not even to Marissa or her own parents.

"Sounds serious," Marissa responded. "I just hope that she comes back to school soon."

"It won't be for a while yet," she said. "Probably a few weeks, maybe more than that."

It was perfect; absolutely perfect. Someone had done this just for her, perhaps her loyal boyfriend. Everything was starting to fit into place now and she smiled to herself. She looked at her watch as time was ticking by and she knew it wouldn't be long until the murder of Rose Morgan could finally be achieved. But she couldn't wait long. She felt a need to do this quickly for the excitement coursing through her body was seemingly on over-drive, speeding up her every feeling and making her mind race with thoughts and ideas. It was like a drug in a way, propelling her forwards into a life that could only get better, more intense. She couldn't wait.

Throughout the day, Marissa found out a lot about Rose Morgan. She seemed very trusting and told her anything that Marissa wished to know. In a way, she felt closer to her victim and a much stronger bond would be obtained like this. Knowing the things that she knew would allow for emotions to be at their highest peak and she would love every second of the torture that would be inflicted on this pathetic little girl.

Her parents were Welsh, moving to Herefordshire when her father got promoted to chief executive at a car company. He found the workload too much to commute from the small town in South Wales to his job, so they moved here two years before Rose was born. Her mother worked as a training officer in a scheme that catered towards people without jobs and little or no qualifications to support a career with. She was, in effect, a lesser person helping the people more lowly than herself. It was laughable.

She had twin sisters' both younger than herself, although they were not identical. In fact, according to Rose, the pair of them couldn't have been more different. Olivia was a withdrawn soul, diagnosed with severe autism when she was a year old. She ought to have been shot at birth Marissa callously thought to herself. This world was already contaminated enough without people like her. Rose told her that Olivia had wispy blonde hair that was always bunched up into high pig-tails held with red ribbons. Sickening. Connie was the clever one, possibly too clever for her own good, thought Marissa. Connie had very long mousy brown hair and a constant smile. What she had to be so happy about was beyond Marissa's thinking. At least she wouldn't be happy for much longer, not with a dead sister, mutilated beyond all recognition and lying unknown for no one to find her.

Rose celebrated her birthday in the glorious spring month of May. This was especially exciting to Marissa for she relished in those things that people would never be able to enjoy when their lives ended so abruptly. She often scoured the newspaper and the internet, looking for articles relating to youngsters who had died and found a particular interesting one just a couple of days ago. A man of twenty had been pushed from a balcony, survived the fall but with both of his legs broken and mangled, only to be stabbed repeatedly in the stomach and chest by his attacker. The murderer was caught which was something Marissa knew she would never be. She was too clever for that. Besides, her boyfriend would not allow her to get caught. He loved her.

Marissa found out about Rose's aspirations with little effort. She seemed to like gloating, which again, only heightened Marissa's excitement, for what was the point in revelling in future achievements when there was no future? Rose would have liked to sit her A-levels in the local college, wanting no less than perfect A's so that she could get into Cambridge University, just like her grandmother, who passed away in her seventies four years ago.

She told Marissa that she missed her grandmother terribly and that it hit her hard when she died. It was cancer that had taken her and she remembered her father spending every waking hour caring for her on her final days on Earth. Rose would often come home from school to find her father sobbing on the couch. Every day was the same, except for one day. That one day was one she would never forget. It was an amazingly cold day in late January but one that Rose thought would be like any other. It wasn't. Her grandmother had passed away that morning and she told Marissa that her father's words that afternoon would be with her forever.

_Not for much longer_ , thought Marissa. _Not for much longer_.

Marissa did not care about the devastation that the death of a daughter would have on the Morgans'. In fact, their misery that would follow from Rose's disappearance didn't cause a dent in her twisted, sadistic mind. Rose Morgan had captured her full attention now and nothing would be able to shift the pleasures of her torture and death from her mind. Not long to go now.

The school day came and went and the two friends walked home together part way, until Rose had to take a left turn through the small shopping centre in the middle of town to reach her neighbourhood at the far end of town. Marissa made sure that Rose gave her mobile phone number to her. Unbeknown to Rose, Marissa would be ringing her that night, persuading her victim to come out with her tomorrow after school.

"Hello. Is that Mrs. Morgan?" she asked that evening. "Could I speak to Rose, please?" A pause. "Thank you."

"Hi Rose!" she said excitedly. "I've got an amazing idea. Why don't we go out somewhere after school tomorrow?"

There was a long pause and then Marissa frowned, clenching her free hand into a fist and then slamming it down on her bed in frustration.

"Oh, well I'm all alone tomorrow," she spoke, her voice shaking as she tried to hide the overwhelming anger that was welling inside her. Rose wasn't going to be easy to kill, especially not if it was this hard to try and persuade her to even venture from her safe-haven; that cosy, stuck-up, rich family of hers in their big posh house. "I just wanted to do something with my friend."

"No, Rose!" she shouted, her red hot anger beginning to surface like lava from a volcano. Rose had asked her if she had any other friends she could possibly go out with tomorrow. "You're the only friend I have! Please come out with me tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry for snapping."

She was forced to apologise to a lesser person and now there was a dangerous mix of both humiliation and anger frothing beneath her expressionless exterior, waiting to boil over. There wasn't much time left before that happened and as she eyed her room in desperation, she realised that her mind was about to do the unthinkable.

"You can't? Why not?!"

"Fine."

Slamming the phone down, she started to cry, sobbing heavily. Flinging open her sacred draw, she pulled out a pin, ignoring the photos of a mutilated Rose, and etched it shakily across her forearm, an intense hatred of herself controlling her emotions. It had entered deeply into the flesh of her arm and she scraped it upwards. Blood trickled down her arm from the red gash that had been brutally forged upon her pale skin but she could only feel numbness and no pain. She had never been able to feel pain, not even now. She did it again and again, gaining more enthusiasm and being able to steady her hand as she did. When she had been able to stop, she threw the bloodied pin feebly on to her bed and continued to weep, looking down at her damaged arm. She had done that; done it to herself. What was happening to her? What had possessed her to do such a thing to her own body? And where was _he_? Why didn't he stop her? Had he disappeared again? How long for this time?

"No," came a voice from the doorway of her bedroom. "But I am angry, Marissa."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I…I don't know what came over me."

"I'm angry, not at you, but at Rose Morgan," he told her. His voice did not seem angry at all, but, as usual, showed no emotion of any kind. "She made you harm yourself. Rose Morgan. She harmed the one closest to me, my one true love."

He walked through the door and he was dressed in black like he was in a permanent state of mourning. He sat down beside her and she peered into his eyes which shone deeply, like an ocean caught in the sunlight. He always had such beautiful eyes and looking into their depths made her feel strong again, like she was in control.

"She is to blame for all of this, Marissa. Therefore, you know what you have to do. You are strong and you are special. She is a lesser person. They _all_ are, Marissa. Every single one of them. You have killed before and I am proud of you."

"Yes. You're right," she replied, her eyes glazed. "Tomorrow, I will make you happy. I will kill Rose Morgan. I will do it for the both of us."

"You are a good girl."


	6. That Name

She looked at her arm through the dim light early the next morning and could just make out dark lines on the surface that disappeared when she looked at them for more than a few seconds. They appeared greater when she wasn't looking directly at them. She was foolish and Rose Morgan had made her do it which only made Marissa even hungrier for her death.

Her window was partially open and she could hear the birds singing away like it was all they cared about. Rose Morgan liked birds and it made Marissa's heart beat slightly faster but also made the scratches on her arm tingle softly, announcing their presence and not letting her forget them easily.

"You bitch," she mumbled, teeth gritted. "You did this to me, Rose. Not as sweet as you make yourself out to be, are you? You've finally shown me your thorn. But you're no match for me. No match. Bitch. You're going to die."

She let go of her quilt covers which were clenched between her clammy fists and turned on the light. She grimaced as she looked down at her arm as if vaguely aware that it was she who had cut herself and not because of being mistreated by Rose Morgan. She soon shook any glimmer of that thought out of her mind and instead reached for the mutilated photo of the girl she would murder today. She smiled.

"You're really going to look like this."

She retrieved a bandage from the medicine cupboard in the bathroom and wrapped it tightly around her damaged arm. She could feel a presence behind her and then warm hands as they wrapped themselves around her waist. It was the first time he'd been this intimate towards her and she felt all tingly inside but also slightly uncomfortable like their relationship was different.

"I'm going to kill Rose Morgan," she said softly but sternly. "Won't let her get away with this. It's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes. You will do it for both of us. I love you, Marissa Kincaid. You're mine. I'm here to make you stronger, to guide you in the right direction. I will never leave you."

"I want to ask you something," she said, turning around to face him. Her voice shook slightly. Why was she so nervous about asking this one simple question? It felt like she was digging into something that should have been left well alone. A gut feeling. Like she already knew, deep down, the answer she sought. She couldn't shake it off. She felt weak; human.

No, she thought. No Marissa. You're turning into a lesser person thinking such thoughts. You have to stop this.

She coughed nervously and covered her mouth instinctively with a sweaty hand. He took her hand in his and held it, prompting her to look into those eyes. Those now so familiar eyes. Why could she remember them?

"Marissa. My one true love. Why are you so worried?"

"I never knew your name," she admitted. "And that's been bothering me. It like…like I should know who you are."

"You know who I am, Marissa. Daniel. You're true love. The one who will be with you forever, until your dying day and beyond. Eternity." He smiled for the first time but it went away as soon as it had developed, like it was never meant to be seen by her.

"Daniel," she mused, eyes slightly glazed. "Daniel."

When she looked up again, Daniel was gone. Waves of nostalgia swept over her but she had no reason to be nostalgic when she was not even thinking about the past. She was confused and her arm started to throb painfully. She hadn't felt pain in years. Something was wrong. She slid down the bathroom wall, salty tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

Looking down towards the floor, she saw a piece of white, shiny material. A photograph. Rose Morgan, mutilated beyond belief looked up at her when she turned it over between her fingers. All thoughts about the Daniel she didn't know but felt that she did, the melancholic nostalgia that swept her senses, all had been eradicated from her mind.

"Die, bitch."


	7. The Unexpected

She felt that excitement again; the unadulterated, raw anticipation of a perfect murder. She clenched the photo in her hand and bit down on her lip as she sat on the bathroom floor, legs splayed and eyes wide with euphoria as if in a trance; she was in her own little world of sadistic pleasure and nothing could break her away from it, not until the deed had been committed.

She sat there for twenty minutes until she came back to her senses. She clambered up, splashed water on her face so that it jolted her to the reality she only barely grasped and made it to the hallway. It was another school day but she didn't know if she felt up to going there today. She imagined those snotty lesser children sneering and staring at her, as if they knew what she had done to her arm. But Rose Morgan had to die and she had to try and lure her to come out with her after school tonight. Damn, she wished none of what went on last night between them actually happened. Because of the altercation with Rose, she'd cut her beautiful arm to ribbons and might have already jeapordized the kill. She needed Rose to trust her, but didn't think she ever would again.

The phone started to ring and Marissa raced to answer it. A timid voice sounded on the other end and Marissa smiled.

"Hello, Rose," she replied, her voice the epitome of a friendly school girl doing nothing but engaging in light conversation with a friend. Her eyes were different, portraying not only malice but a deranged look of pure evil. "I wasn't expecting you to call. I thought I'd blown it big time."

Her lips curled into a bigger smile and, coupled with the look in her eyes, made her look like the devil incarnate. If Rose could have seen her, she would have run a mile. But she couldn't. Marissa was very glad about that.

"I'm really glad that we can be friends still. I'm sorry for everything. Look, I can't come into school today as my mum's taken ill but she said I can still go out with friends tonight if I wanted to. Do you want to meet up somewhere?"

Rose had told her that she'd love to come out tonight and said that anywhere would be good with friends. Things were _always_ better with friends. Marissa held up her head and gazed at the ceiling, dreamily. Oh yes. Things were _definitely_ better with friends.

"Well, how about the lake? Sounds boring I know, but it can get spooky down there. How about we tell each other ghost stories and things? Hey, I might even tell you a story I know you'll _never_ forget!" Marissa's eyes flashed with a devilish evil. "How about it?"

There was a pause as Rose made up her mind about the seemingly friendly proposition and Marissa held the crazed look of a drug addict getting their euphoric drug-induced high.

"Alright! See you by the lakeside at four thirty! Oh, and tell the teachers I've got flu or something. They probably don't think I should be at home just 'cos my mum's ill or something. Bye."

It was too easy to trap Rose Morgan. _Too easy._

"You've done well, Marissa," Daniel spoke. He was stood behind her, for how long Marissa didn't know. She turned round to face him and reeled back as her eyes fixed onto his. Somehow faded memories were flashing through her mind and then dissipating as soon as she tried to grasp their meaning whenever she looked into those dark, lifeless eyes; only they weren't so dark and lifeless anymore. They seemed to be taking on their own personality and they looked faintly dangerous, but not dangerous enough to resist him or tell him to leave her the heck alone. She still wanted him. She still needed him. Oh, she needed him more than ever now.

"T-thank you," she stammered, finally getting her courage back. "I'm a clever girl, aren't I?"

"Yes, Marissa. You are. You're _my_ clever girl." His voice was strong, controlling. No one else would ever come close to controlling Marissa. He was better than everyone else and she loved him. Always would. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"No, not quite," she replied. "I've got to get some...stuff together. The carving knife, a bit of rope, my trusty camera..." Her voice trailed off as the fantasies in her head grew to fantastic proportions. Tonight. It would happen tonight. She didn't yet know how it would happen, just that it would. And she knew that Rose Morgan's death would be a slow and agonising one. Marissa wouldn't allow the murder she'd been waiting for to end quickly, not when she'd poured so much effort into making it as emotionally satisfying as possible.

"Marissa, look at me," Daniel persuaded. She looked into his eyes and focused intently on them. "Rose Morgan is an evil person who must die. She took Helen away from you, didn't she? For that, she must pay. Death will always come quickly to those who deserve it, and Rose does. Oh, she definitely does. Make her pay, Marissa. Make her pay!" For the first time ever, Marissa heard an exciteable and slightly angry tone in his voice. She felt that he wanted it just as much as she did. Now she was even more determined to make it happen. She had to do it for the both of them.

"I promise I will make her pay."

He disappeared then, and Marissa had only blinked. He'd said what needed to be said and she no longer needed him. What she needed was to feel blood on her hands. What she needed was to hear those blood-curdling screams and those last raspy breaths of Rose Morgan. Oh yes...it would be soon; oh so soon. She could feel an unbearable impatience clawing within her but she only needed to wait a few more hours. It wasn't ideal, nor was it exactly bearable, but waiting here for that time to come was just the beginning of an incredible finale of Rose Morgan's pitiful life.

Hours had slowly passed and Marissa hadn't washed or even eaten anything. Such things hadn't even entered her distorted mind. Why should they have? They were unimportant, especially compared to the murder of that bitch, Rose Morgan. She'd got it coming to her. _Big time._ She had to pay for what she'd done. Rose had taken Helen away from her, but worse than that, she'd made someone like Marissa cut her own arm to shreds. How dare she, a lesser person, do something like that?

"You've made your bed of spikes, Rose. Now you have to lie in it," Marissa mumbled to herself, a hungry glint in her vicious eyes. "You shouldn't have trusted me. Oh, but you did. You did. Bitch."

She opened her sacred draw and pulled out her poloroid camera, a white coloured length of rope, a small set of screwdrivers and a stapler, placing them into a rucksack. Then she buried her hands amidst the love letters from Daniel, many photos and other macabre oddities, finally retrieving the carving knife hidden in a plastic bag at the bottom of the drawer. As she pulled it out she shivered.

"I can't wait to play with you, Rose Morgan."

It had started to rain an hour before Marissa was due to leave and it both excited her and disappointed her. She had always loved the rain because it made her thoughts deeper and her feelings more intense. The atmosphere of a wet, gloomy day satisfied her senses more than a day full of sunshine and lesser people hoping to catch a few rays. In a way, the change in weather was perfect. Worry and disappointment tugged at her insides when she realised Rose might not see rain in the same way. She was expecting the phone to ring soon. And it did.

Marissa remained calm. She had to. Frightening Rose at this crucial time simply wasn't an option. She pursed her lips angrily and took three deep breaths. Breathing copiously through her nostrils was able to slowly release the tension building up inside her and she answered the phone.

"Hello?" she answered sweetly. "Oh, Hi Rose. Bummer that it's raining, eh? Is that what you phoned about?"

"Oh, is that so? I never knew you liked the rain so much! That's great because I love it too. Bet you didn't know that, right?"

A relieved smile crept onto her face.

I'm so glad it's still going ahead. I've been so bored here, looking after mum. Meet you at the lake in half an hour. Bye."

She punched the air with her fist, thrilled that Rose had fallen hook, line and sinker for her murderous act of revenge. Now all she had to do was make sure everything was tucked away safely in her bag and be on her way to Rose's soon to be resting place.

The rain felt like a blessing on her skin as she stepped into it. It had started as a light drizzle but got heavier as time went on. Now it was a steady spring shower, splashing lightly on the pavement. The clouds thickened and became darker over her head and she relished it. Everything felt just right. Nothing could go wrong, not now, not after everything had seemed to fit into place. Who'd have thought Rose would actually _like_ the rain? Marissa was sure she'd try and wriggle out of meeting her tonight. Her fate had been sealed.

"Everyone gets what they deserve, Rose."

Marissa spotted Rose standing beside the lake under a huge pink umbrella. She was wearing a beige coat and skinny jeans and a baby pink handbag was slung over her shoulder. Those were the clothes she'd die in. Marissa grinned.

"Hi Marissa! I got here five minutes ago. Everything good with you?" She seemed overly cheerly and easily excitable. Not for much longer, though.

"Yes, everything's fine. Mum's feeling better now and I'm really excited about something."

"Oh, what's that? Tell me!"

"You'll find out later. Trust me."

"Oooh, now I'm intrigued! Why can't you tell me now? Oh, go on Marissa! Please?" She begged. Pitiful creature. She sounded like a spoilt little brat.

"No, because then it will spoil the surprise!" Marissa flashed her a mischievous smile, something she wasn't especially used to. She hoped the true nature of her surprise didn't show through her friendly facade. Even if it was there, Rose hadn't noticed.

"Hmm...I suppose I can wait, although I don't do patience at all. Guess I'll have to now, though!"

Rose scanned the surroundings and rolled her eyes wearily. She also yawned.

"You sure pick some places, you know. I thought this place was meant to be spooky."

"Oh, believe me, it is."

Marissa decided to start the eagerly awaited torture of Rose Morgan sooner rather than later. It simply couldn't wait. First of all, she would scare her to within an inch of her short life, turn her into a quivering wreck. The only way to do it successfully was to tell her about the body in the lake. She could imagine Alex clearly, hidden beneath the murky waters, his skin a pale, greyish tone, clumps of dead skin peeling off his face, eyes bulging outwards. She imagined his arms spread out lifelessly as the currents tried to pull him both ways. He perhaps wouldn't have drifted far, not with his heavy uniform, which by now would be water-logged as well as full of stones. He wasn't going anywhere. He'd rot until he was nothing more than a skeleton. And soon enough, Rose would be there with him.

"Go on then, give me a fright," Rose demanded.

"Oh, I know what'll make you scared, Rose. I've got a story to tell you. It's about death and what lies beneath the murky waters. And you know what else?"

"What?"

"It's all true." Marissa flashed a faintly wicked smile and for a second, Rose's eyes portrayed a look of genuine fright before they turned to normal. Then she frowned.

"You're pulling my leg!" she laughed. "You had me worried for a second though." She looked up. "The rain's getting heavier, Marissa."

"Don't change the subject, Rose Morgan," Marissa told her. Her voice had turned suddenly cold and monotone, and once again, the fear in Rose's eyes had returned, except this time the fear was more intense. She'd caught on. Marissa tensed up, ready to pounce on her victim if she tried to run. She was going nowhere now.

"I killed Alex Weston. I stabbed him in the neck and there was blood everywhere, but that didn't matter because I'm good like that. I managed to get rid of all the blood on me. Alex, he just got in the way and it had to be done. I'm good like that. Daniel said so. I don't even know who Daniel really is!" She laughed maniacally. "Alex is in there now, weighed down by stones. Just rotting away he is. Down there in the depths of that beautiful lake. All alone." She spoke those last words with a mock sadness, pouting her lips as if she was about to cry. "But he won't be alone for much longer! You're going to be _right_ by his side! You're next, Rose. You're next! This is what I've been waiting for!" She breathed heavily, a dark euphoria clinging onto her every word. Spittle flew from her mouth as she spoke them, covering Rose's shocked expression with saliva.

"Have you...been drinking?" Rose asked, shakily. She wanted it to be true but this wasn't drink talking. This was plain psychosis.

"Drinking is what lesser people do," she sneered. "I'm not one of those people. Daniel and I, we're one of a kind. I'm not from around here. Destined for higher places, I am. Higher than your pitiful little soul."

Rose kept glancing behind her as if she was planning an escape route. Marissa caught on to this as quickly as a snake would catch on to its prey with gaping jaws. She dropped her backpack to the floor, and as it hit the ground Rose darted, screaming hysterically for help. Marissa lunged forwards, missing Rose's left arm as it flailed madly, and then went in for the catch. It was over as soon as it had begun because Marissa had flung herself at her victim and ended up on top of her, pinning her down. With an unnatural strength once again boiling to the surface, Marissa was able to dig her claws into Rose's scalp and hair and drag her back to where she had left the backpack. All of her little torture devices were in that bag, and what good would it be if she couldn't use them?

Marissa sat on Rose's arm as she pulled the backpack nearer. The petrified girl continued to scream and then swung her free arm upwards, trying to hit Marissa's face and missing. Managing to grasp a screwdriver from the depths of her backpack, Marissa plunged it quickly into Rose's leg, just above the knee. Blood spurted out of the wound like jam, making it look worse than it was. It wouldn't kill her, but the pain would surely be horrific. And it would definately incapacitate her. She couldn't run away anymore. She was destined for death; just as Marissa was destined for higher places.

The blood-curdling scream was like ecstasy to Marissa and she quickly plunged the screwdriver into Rose's other leg making her screams higher in pitch. The bitch was in agony. She slipped off her arm and watched as Rose tried to get up. Her face was wet with tears and contorted into a look of despair and determination as she tried to twist her body round so that she could get up and run. She'd actually managed it, and each breath was heavy as she poured all energy into escaping. Marissa enjoyed watching. She knew she wouldn't be able to get far, not with those injuries. Rose lifted herself up with her arms, managing to kneel on her legs, and then hoisted herself up. She moaned in pain as she placed her weight onto her legs and then dropped to a heap on the floor.

"That was fun to watch," Marissa said, leering at her with mad eyes. "You're not going anywhere. Well, except maybe for the lake, that is."

"No!" Rose screeched. "No! Please don't kill me! If I upset you I'm sorry! Please!" She cried out in agony again before becoming a sobbing mess.

Marissa knelt down beside her and plucked out a photograph from her backpack. She turned the subject around so that Rose could see it clearly. Her eyes widened, but she didn't move. She knew that she couldn't move but the shock alone was enough to stun every muscle into stillness. It was a picture of her but she didn't have eyes and there were two holes were her boobs once were. Red pen lined most of the photo, like it was meant to be blood. What shocked her most though was not graphic in nature, but spoke an honest truth. It was then that she knew just what Marissa had planned for her. Next to her face were the words ""I am a piece of meat and nothing more. Do with me what you will, Marissa."

"Got you now, Rose," Marissa hissed. "I can do whatever I want. And that's what I'm going to do. I'll make you suffer first. Then I'll kill you."

At that point, Rose seemed to want to curl up into a ball. She'd brought her legs up and hugged herself tightly with her arms, bringing her face towards her chest. She was sobbing loudly; such a sight and sound would surely tug at anyone's conscience, but not Marissa. It merely made her feel twice as powerful and even more emotionally satisfied. She took one final look at the mangled Rose on the photo before putting it back inside the backpack and retrieving a piece of rope and a small box of pins and needles. She grabbed Rose's hair and jerked her head upwards sharply, making her cry out. Then she tied the rope around her neck, pulling it tighter and tighter, not quite hard enough to kill. She wailed in protest, a sound that got more and more distorted as her windpipe grew weaker with lack of air and the force of the rope tightening it. Her hands flailed in all directions and her eyes were bulging out of their sockets. Then Marissa loosened her grip and pulled the rope from around her neck.

Rose gasped and opened her mouth wide, letting the cool air billow through her windpipe. Her chest was heaving as she breathed it in and she had brought her hands to her throat as if trying to protect it from further harm. Marissa's heart was beating fast as she watched life coming back to her. It was a risk. Marissa only wanted to scare her, make her think that she was going to die right now. She _did_ want her to die, but not this soon. Her torture had only just begun.

"I'm...not...dead..." Rose gurgled, astonished that she was still alive but partly wishing that she could just go to sleep and never wake up.

"Good job, isn't it, Rose Morgan?" she answered back in that cold monotone voice of hers. "There's still so much in store for you. I have some pins and needles in this box," - she shoved the unopened box near her face so that she could see it and then shook it - "and do you know what I'm going to do with them?" She flashed her a grin that vanished within seconds. "I'm going to stick them into you. It's going to hurt and I'll enjoy every second watching you squirm."

"No...," Rose managed, but her protests were falling on deaf ears. Marissa wasn't going to let her go. The madness in those eyes were so clear now. Why hadn't she seen it sooner? Why did she have to come to the lake? She knew deep down that this place was a weird place to meet up. And now she was going to die here.

"Shut up."

She grasped one of the pins and twisted it between her fingers before plunging the pin firmly into Rose's cheek. She let out a yelp and then started waving her head about as if doing so would make the pin come loose and fall out. Marissa had made sure that only the flat round top of the pin was visible. The rest of it was embedded deep into her cheek. She picked out more pins, sticking them firmly into various places on Rose's face, then she got out needles and waved one close to Rose's right eye. She closed her eyes instinctively, making Marissa forcefully pry them open with her fingers.

"Think you know where these are going, eh?" she teased. She was treating this like some sort of sick game. This time there was no protest, just a whimper and a sob. Rose Morgan, the girl who always got what she wanted, even other people's friends, was now a snivveling wreck and at the full mercy of one Marissa Kincaid, the girl who no one could touch. She had murdered once and had got away with it, and she could do it again. Without hesitation, she brought the needle down and penetrated Rose's crystal blue iris. Blood filled the whites and then cascaded outwards down her cheek. Like a deers eye, it was grisly and not soft like she first imagined, but with a little effort she was able to push deeper and deeper inside. Rose was screaming hysterically. This sort of scream Marissa had only heard in those late night gory horror films. Now she was getting the real deal. She liked it very much.

"Did you think you could get away with it?" the voice of a young male asked her. She quickly turned her head, forgetting about the needle and forgetting about who's eye it was embedded in. A sopping wet Alex stood beside the depths of the lake, his skin a dank and grey colour, the hues of death. Skin was peeling from his face in grotesque clumps and his uniform was bulging in the places Marissa had filled with stones. Now it was her turn to widen her eyes in shock and fear.


	8. Defeated

"I...I...I killed you," Marissa stammered.

She dropped the box of needles onto the floor and as they clashed together no one stirred. Rose was lying on the floor, all bloodied and dazed. She was whimpering and sobbing, but Marissa didn't turn her head once to inspect her victim for both she and Alex had locked their gazes onto each other.

"Yes, you killed me. I underestimated you, Marissa. But I also think you underestimate the powers of those around you. You'll pay for what you did."

"Shut up!" she spat, not taking her eyes off him. "Just shut UP!"

"Daniel isn't here right now, Marissa. He is your power, isn't he? Your strength. Without him you'd be nothing."

"How...how do you...?" Marissa had started to tremble.

"How do I know Daniel? Oh, I know a lot of things about you, Marissa. You and Daniel, you're close. Extremely close. Aren't you? Tell me!"

"Yes! No! I...I...I don't...know. I don't know! Get away from me!"

"I'll never be able to leave you, Marissa. Look what you did to me. I'll be with you until you die. And so will Daniel."

"Daniel..." she whispered. "Daniel. Please come. I need you."

"Perhaps Daniel isn't the person you think he is. Perhaps he is someone you want to forget, but can't."

The dead Alex swung towards her, arms outstretched like a zombie. She backed up, tripping over her backpack. She lunged inside and pulled out the carving knife, then darted back onto her feet and pointed it crazily at Alex. He came closer and closer, and closer still, until she could see the features on his face. His eyes were covered in red, pulsing veins and the sores on his face were oozing thick slime. His lips, once soft and pink, were yellow and chapped. He grimaced at her, eyes frightening her, and still he came. She backed away, the knife shaking in her white knuckled hand.

"I'll kill you again if I have to!" she cried. "Don't come any closer or...or I'll do it!"

He stopped then, and his arms dropped to his side as he began to talk to Marissa once more.

"You class yourself as a higher person, but you're just like the rest of us. You're just a lesser person. You're no better than Rose Morgan, or your friend Helen. You're no better than me or your own mother. As for Daniel? You hate him. Don't lie to me. I know the truth. I know what it's like inside your head. I know all sorts of things about you, Marissa."

As if sensing that Alex would lunge at her as soon as she let her guard down, she started waving the knife round more eratically. He stood there, watching her. She hadn't noticed the badly injured Rose lying there on the floor, shakily lifting her mobile phone to her head.

"You...stay away from me!" she cried, both scared and enraged. "I'll kill you again!"

"So you keep saying, Marissa. But you can't kill something that isn't there. Alex is dead. You stabbed a penkife through his body, put stones in his school uniform, and dragged him into the lake." He pointed a bony finger towards the water. "Alex is down there, not up here. I'm in your head, Marissa. Just like Daniel. Neither of us exist. Not anymore, anyway." He grinned at her, his eyes shimmering with hatred, a look that sent shivers down Marissa's spine. "You try to tell yourself that you're not losing it, but deep down, you know it's true. You're just a cold-hearted, psychotic killer."

"Don't talk about me like that!" Marissa suddenly erupted.

She could hear the faint sounds of police sirens in the distance. Her heart started thumping wildly in her chest. They were coming after her! For her! She looked down to Rose, whose eyes were wide in fear and pain, but soon changed to a faint look of glee and relief.

"They're...coming. For you," she managed.

Marissa felt betrayed and humiliated. Betrayed by Daniel, who had failed to turn up to save her, or even talk to her, and humilated by Rose and Alex who had somehow managed to thwart her plans. She was Marissa Kincaid, who no one could defeat. But here she was, weak, scared and about to be arrested for murder and assault if she didn't think quickly. She turned her head to insane laughter. Alex was there, arms crossed, his head thrown back and his chest heaving with each breath. But instead of lunging at him with the carving knife, she instead lunged at Rose. There came a scream from Rose's tortured face.

A strong hand grasped onto Marissa's arm and pulled it back and the carving knife was whisked from her hand as both her arms were fiercely drawn behind her back. A stern prod against her lower back made her drop to the floor and it felt like that one prod had winded her. She kicked and screamed, in anger, frustration and panic, but she couldn't throw those hands off her. They were all over her, holding her down. Fierce hands, not caring how hurtful they were being.

She could hear voices, lots of them. They were surrounding her like a giant cocoon, and she could hardly hear her own thoughs, hardly breathe. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Strong, male voices were warning each other that they were dealing with an armed killer and that she could lunge at any moment. Garbled, muffled voices had been thrown into the mix as their walkie-talkies emitted their alien-like sounds.

Cold steel embedded its icy chill onto her wrists as the cuffs snapped shut, limiting her movement. She glanced up to see Rose still lying on the ground, but people in green suits were hovering around her. Soon after, the green suited people parted slightly as two more of them carried a stretcher over. One placed a mask onto her face and told her that everything was going to be okay. Suddenly, Rose's voice drifted through her head, as soft as a feather floating on the wind.

"It's over, Marissa."

"No! You bitch! It's not over! I'll kill you! I'll kill you! You'll die young, you know that? You know that, don't you? You'll die young, just like Alex did! You pitiful creature! I'm Marissa Kincaid, you know that don't you, you bitch? I'll get you...I'll...get...you..."

There was a sharp pin-prick in her leg and then a heavy, draining fatigue washed over her. Her eyes were getting heavy and her head spun round and round. Suddenly, everything became one massive blur. She could no longer see Rose Morgan being carried into the waiting ambulance, could no longer see the individual blades of grass or the green suited paramedics. The grey sky seemed to dip into the swirling green. Another voice drifted through the heavily sedated Marissa before she closed her eyes and drifted into unconsciousness.

"You're sick, Marissa. Forever haunted by me, Daniel Kincaid. Your dead brother."


	9. Final Kill

There stood a building, pretty and welcoming, tall and noble, with green shoots crawling up its walls so frequently that it looked alive. The windows were small and dainty with pretty curtains framing the panes, but each window was sealed with thick grey bars. The grounds were lush and green with a tennis court at the left side and a flower garden at its right. Surrounding the noble looking building was a tall, thick, concrete wall and at the top were rolls upon rolls of menacing barbed wire. To someone who didn't know the history or meaning of the place it would seem like some sort of top-secret hide-away because it was that clean and well looked after, but its beautiful brick walls were actually concealing broken lives, tragedy and madness. No one had ever been able to escape from Hawkshead Home for the Criminally Insane and it had been months since the last attempt.

It wasn't a prison, they said, but a secure unit for those that had commited acts they would not have even thought of doing if it weren't for their distorted and sick minds. Their illness was controlling them, not their conscious or personality. There were a wide range of illnesses present in its patients. Some had severe psychoses due to illnesses like schizophrenia, others were unstable and had multiple personalities and some were so severe that even the institution's top psychiatrist couldn't label the exact illness. He said that sometimes the patient could show symptoms of depression, psychosis and also symptoms of varying personality disorders. He also said that a few unlucky individuals didn't just have one illness, but several. He particularly thought that this was the case of the newest arrival, Marissa Kincaid.

Marissa was sat in her small but comfortable room, staring off into space. Her eyes were dull and heavy, with dark rings circling them. She hadn't slept since she'd arrived here a few weeks ago. How could she sleep when all she could hear was tormented screams every single night? A woman in her forties sobbed uncontrollably every night, occasionally shouting and screaming for her son whom she had killed two years ago. Last night, Marissa tossed and turned in her bed while the large, unkempt woman begged her son for forgiveness, claiming that the voice of Vinnie had told her to do it. Marissa had found out days before that Vinnie was the son she'd miscarried when she was fifteen years old.

She didn't belong here with these nutters. And Rose Morgan should have been dead. She wasn't. She still didn't understand what had happened on that day to make things go so wrong. Everything was such a blur. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Alex coming for her, the boy she'd killed just days before. She could feel rain on her face, could feel the cold metal on her skin, could hear the shouts of policemen, the sounds of sirens, her own tormented breath; and the voice of Daniel claiming to be her dead brother. Nostalgia flooded back to her, but it wasn't the sort of nostalgia you dreamed about and felt sad when you realised it had gone. It was tearing her up inside, making her relive the memories she thought she'd finally forgotten. She fell onto her pillow and wept.

* * *

Dr. Marcus Kent sat in his office, pouring over a document that had arrived in his office that morning. His brow was furrowed and his dark brown eyes were intently studying the words on the paper. Soon, he would be talking to a teenage girl who was exhibiting symptoms of schizophrenia and two personality disorders, namely narcisistic personality disorder and borderline personality disorder. She hadn't been diagnosed yet; that was his job, but her initial assessment on arrival to the institution made it clear that the girl was deeply psychotic, prone to violent mood swings and thought too highly of herself for it to be considered normal egotism. Dr. Kent would probe more deeply into the girls mind, learn everything there was to know about her, before making his evaluation.

He'd been a psychiatrist for twelve of his forty years but dealing with mental patients who had killed others so viciously and without any remorse still scared him. He didn't show this to his patients; he couldn't. Admitting he was scared showed that he was weak and also a human just like their victims had once been human. He could never, ever open himself up like that. It was a golden rule that had always been drummed into his head at university and medical college. To his patients, he was solely there to help them, and not be their friends. He'd made that mistake once before, in his second year as a psychiatrist. He became too attached to a woman who was clearly emotionally unstable and in turn, his willingness to be her friend set off a drastic chain of events, ending in her trying to take her own life, as well as his, so that they could be together forever. So yes, Marcus Kent was slightly worried about his soon-to-be encounter. It was, however, his job. He brushed his feelings to the side, took a swig of luke-warm coffee, picked up his brief-case and left his office.

Stood outside a bland metal door were three men in uniform. One held a syringe tightly in his hand. Marcus nodded to them, and as they nodded back, he knocked at the door before entering. Sat in a chair was Marissa Kincaid, her brown hair hanging loosely at her sides, almost shielding her dead, tired-looking eyes from view. She had an almost catatonic look about her, like she was drifting somewhere far away and couldn't hear or see anyone. Her hands were gripped tightly together and she was rocking slightly. Her clothes, however, were newly washed and crease-free. She wore a tight t-shirt which showed a slight cleavage and jeans. She wore new trainers on her feet and she smelled faintly of vanilla.

He sidled over to the chair placed opposite hers, gingerly sat down and announced himself.

"Hello, Marissa. My name's Marcus Kent and I'm not here to judge you or shout at you but to know more about you and your past. That way I can help you to overcome your problems so that you can get better. Is that what you want?"

Marissa darted her eyes to his.

"No," she stated. "I like being me."

"You like being a cold-blooded murderer?"

"I like being me," she repeated.

Marcus wasn't surprised at her answer. In fact, he had expected it. She undoubtedly had narcissistic personality disorder and he could base his diagnosis on the fact that she enjoyed being herself and that she hadn't done anything wrong. To concrete his diagnosis further, he decided to delve deeper.

"Do you think you belong here?" he asked.

"No. I'm not a nutter. I'm not a lesser-person."

"What is a lesser-person?"

"You are a lesser-person. That snivveling cow in the next room to me is a lesser-person. Alex is a lesser-person. Daniel and I? We're higher than all of you."

He had heard about Daniel. He was the hallucination Marissa had thought was her actual boyfriend. It was also established that the figure of Alex she had seen emerge from the lake after she had killed him was also a hallucination, both brought on by a deep-set psychosis which had probably been festering away inside her mind for years, slowly developing and with deadly consequences. If only she had received help sooner, all of this may never have happened. Alex Weston was not lucky. Rose Morgan was luckier, but she would have both physical and emotional scars for the rest of her life. She would never, ever forget.

"Who told you that you were better than us...lesser-people?," Marcus asked, carefully.

"Daniel did. He told me a lot of things. He even told me to kill. He said that we weren't of this world...but he...I found something out...about Daniel." Her voice wavered and lost its boldness quickly. Tears started to form in her eyes. She appeared to have changed her frame of mind in a split second, from a highly confident girl to a quivering wreck, and this worried him.

"It's okay, Marissa. Whatever you want to say, say it. Sometimes, things can get easier when another person knows about them. He faintly smiled but she didn't return it.

"Daniel is my brother...was my brother."

He remembered hearing about this in her notes. The Kincaid family got torn apart six years ago when Daniel Kincaid, fifteen, was found at the bottom of the garden, thirty stab wounds in his chest and stomach and his genitals mutilated beyond belief. His eyes had also been gouged out with a sharp object. Both mother and daughter became suspects, but all charges were eventually dropped. The murder of Daniel Kincaid was never solved and as months went by, the police involvement dwindled. However, Marcus felt something in his gut, something sickening and unbearable. He felt he was looking straight into the young murderer's eyes right now.

"Did you love your brother, Marissa?"

She looked down at her knees and started touching her hair nervously. She was trembling harder than ever.

"He said he loved me," she started. "But I didn't love him. Not...not like that. At first I...I thought he was doing it because he cared for me. I was his little sister. But when he told me that it was our little secret I knew he was doing something wrong. It never felt right. He...he would do it when my mum wasn't in the house or when it was in the middle of the night. I told him that we should tell our mum. He hit me, over and over again when I said that. He said we would both get into trouble and then mum would throw us out and we would have to live in the street. After that, he hit me more and more, but the pain was never as bad as...the other things he did to me.

In the end I couldn't take it anymore. When my mum was at work, I drugged his drink with loads of tablets from the medicine cupboard. He took a few sips and then collapsed on the floor. I got a knife out the drawer and stabbed him repeatedly. I used to hate the way he looked at me in that nasty, seductive way so I gouged out his eyes. After I did that I pulled his pants down and kept stabbing him repeatedly down there...right where it hurts. But by that time I think he was already dead."

"When he started coming back to me he was dressed all in black and started speaking to me like I was something really special. I didn't recognise him at all. Daniel said he loved me really much and that we could rule the world together. I had no idea that he was actually my brother. I saw him more as a boyfriend. I told him this, too, and he didn't deny it. He never told me...and now I know that all this time my brother was coming back to get me, to make me pay for what I did!"

"Marissa, your brother is dead," Marcus quickly interjected. He could see how agitated she was and he had to try and prevent her from lashing out or hurting herself. He could see it in her eyes that she was close to turning. He was hurting too. How he wished that this tragedy had never happened. Oh God, how he longed for it all to be a dream. He couldn't let it get to him. Today, he was here for Marissa. "He's in the ground and has been there for a long time. The person you saw and heard was inside your own head. A hallucination. Neither your brother or your state of mind can hurt you anymore. You're highly medicated and this is for a reason. It is so you will never ever have to see things you don't want to anymore."

"Am I a bad person, doctor?" she asked in a childish tone.

"No, you're not. You've had a tough life and are mentally ill. It wasn't your fault. What you did was wrong, yes. But with medication, I'd like to believe that you are capable of leading a normal life."

Marissa suddenly shot up, her hands clenched into tight fists. Her eyes were watery and she was trembling and sobbing slightly. She unclenched her left hand and pulled out a short knife from her trouser leg, glaring at Marcus with those tormented eyes as tears flooded down her sodden cheeks.

"Don't you lie to me!" she screamed. "All this time I thought I was better than everybody! But that's not true! I'm just low-life scum who let my brother sexually abuse me and hit me and everything! I'm just a weakling!"

"Marissa!" Marcus cried as she quckly walked towards him, shaking and swaying and muttering to herself. She stopped just short of Marcus and looked up at him pleadingly. He wanted to shout for help, but he found that he could not. All he could do was watch with bated breath as everything unfolded around him. Before he had even a time to react, his ears were penetrated by a shrill but short scream as Marissa plunged the knife into her stomach and then a sharp thud as she hit the floor. Marcus was frozen to the spot for a second, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Then he stooped low to the ground and held the wounded girl in his arms.

"This was...the best...thing...I ever did. I'm so...sorry for...everything. I can't hurt...anyone...else...now..."

"Marissa, what have you done!" Marcus blurted, his nose stuffy and his eyes watery and stinging. "Please...don't talk. You're going to be alright, I promise. I promise!"

At that moment, the door flew open and three men came running inside. They knelt to the ground to inspect what had happened but Marcus' desperate plea brought all eyes to his face.

"Call an ambulance! Now!" Marcus bellowed.

He knew it was too late, however, as Marissa's body became limp in his arms.

The End.


End file.
